


(It Was Not) Sitting Behind Dark Ripped Shades

by ellsaba (vanillawg)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, M/M, Minor Character Death, Moving On, Post 3a, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 12:45:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9324182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanillawg/pseuds/ellsaba
Summary: Moving on has never been something Derek let himself do.Stiles makes him think that, maybe, it's okay.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Bukowski's 'now the professors'.  
> This was written as a sort of challenge, because all the fics I'm working on right now are really long, lmao.  
> Unbeta'd, so if there's any errors or anything please say! Concrit is my friend. If I didn't post it now I knew I would never post it.  
> Details about the character death at the end, but it's all canon and pre-fic.

_it was not_

_sitting behind dark ripped shades_

_pulled down for_

_weeks_

_months_

_years_

_afraid of the landlady’s footstep--_

_death was nothing next to that--_

_it was_

_being more and more startled by the world and_

_the world’s people._

_it was the cosmic_

_joke, a dirty_

_one at_

_that._

-charles bukowski

 

Boyd’s funeral, like Erica’s, is a small affair.

They have Erica’s deep in the preserve, because she, more than anyone, loved it here; the deep greens that make some sort of picture none of the others saw, with the light filtering through in soft streaks, the dirt beneath her feet, as she stood barefoot and toe-curling in a small opening. She would throw her arms out, laugh as she tasted the sunlight on her tongue, would sit on a rock by the small stream, listen to the water with such reverence Derek thought maybe it spoke to her, in quiet confessions.

She never said it, but Derek knew it became something to her that she hadn’t had before.

He’s glad, at least, that Erica found what she was looking for.

They want to bury Boyd in Georgia, near where his grandmother lives, but Stiles bites his lip and tells them it’s a bad idea. And it is; too many risks, too many questions.

Derek thinks, later, when his heart is thumping in his mouth and tastes a little too much like blood, that this is what he did to them, to Boyd and Erica. Ruined their lives and made their death an _inconvenience_.

This is what he did to them, he thinks, when he sees their families in town and thinks, _you’ll never be able to find out what happened to your children._

Beacon Hills has enough suspicious deaths, Derek knows, and they’re on him. He could dip his hands in clean water and they’d still come out dirtier than before.

Guilt, he thinks, tastes like fire and blood.

So they bury Boyd, like Erica, deep in the preserves, like a dirty secret, and he thinks he could be sick.

He thinks someone offers words – Isaac, maybe, or Cora – but Derek lets the wolfsbane burn his hands as he plants it, lets it keep him quiet. He doesn’t know what would come out if he opened his mouth, if he’d scream or howl or just cry. He doesn’t want to find out, and he lets his grief make a coward out of him.

Afterwards, they leave. Stiles lingers like a chill, but he leaves, too. It doesn’t sting, this time, like it usually does. He’s grateful for it. There’s some shame, he thinks, in this, but he can only bring himself to mourn when he’s alone, because he’s never made a single thing easy for himself. But when he howls, he knows there’s not a damned person that doesn’t hear him.

Someone comes back, a few hours later, and Derek can tell who it is by the rabbiting heartbeat, but Stiles walks towards him like he never left at all. Sits down on the dirt next to Derek, and says nothing.

What feels like hours pass, and Stiles sniffs, wipes at his face roughly with his sleeve – he’s wearing his hoodie, the red one, that Erica used to laugh at. He’s oddly grateful for this, and barks out a laugh, except it comes out more like a sob.

Stiles stands, waits a few moments, before shoving his hand out at Derek.

Derek looks at him, and remembers – though, really, he never forgot – that Stiles, too, has lost people. Stiles, too, has a part of him that he doesn’t talk about, that’s a little darker than the rest. Stiles, who is so bright it hurts to look at him sometimes, makes it easy to not think about these things.

Death has touched Derek so many times he forgot what it was like to live without that shadow until he met Stiles, and that terrifies him in a way he’s never been before.

“Okay?” Stiles asks, like it’s that easy. And maybe it is, Derek thinks. Maybe it can be.

Derek takes his hand.

**Author's Note:**

> Boyd and Erica's funerals (specifically Boyd's, but Erica's is detailed).
> 
> Also I have tumblr - I'm csernys. I definitely would have just added a hyperlink, but I am so bad with technology. One time I changed all the apps on my old laptop into word documents. Skype was the only thing that worked.  
> Also, well. Word.  
> Thanks for reading lovelies <333


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